Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“Listen, I just want you to know that—”
“I don’t know. She’s a little thick for my taste.”
Whatever she says falls flat on my ears at the very loud and purposeful comment. My head snaps forward, narrowing in on the back of Alister Howl’s dumbass head, his Ken doll hair sticking out under a hat like he just stepped off the baseball field, not a hundred-yard stretch of green. And yeah, I realize that sounds fucking dumb, but I don’t care. He looks like a fool, and I can’t stand him or his all-American act.
He’s always on me, and I know he’s only speaking because he knows I can hear him.
He’s seen me with her.
The motherfucker knows.
And he proves this when he glances this way, glaring from Allana to me as he adds, “But hey, if she’s good enough for one quarterback, she’s good enough for another, right?”
I dart forward, shove by a few, and yank on the bill of his stupid-ass Dodgers hat and tug until he’s tripping over his own feet, landing on his ass.
He looks up from the floor, the others around laughing and talking shit, but he knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t even glare. He grins, lifting his hands in mock innocence.
“My bad, Johnson.” That grin grows, but there’s something underneath it. A twisted sort of hate he’s carried since he stepped foot on this field this summer. “Forgot you got a thing for blonds, don’t you?” The last words leave him on a snarl.
“Watch your tongue, asshole. Don’t test me. Not here.” Not with her.
Now he does glare, his lips curling as he hops up and presses his chest to mine. “I should ruin this for you. I could, right here, right now.”
I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about, and I don’t care. I push forward. “You could try.”
He opens his mouth, but Coach appears with a clipboard, and what do you know, his name is called to the curtain.
He shoves me with his shoulder on his way by, and Coach raises a brow, but I only shake my head.
The dude is a punk with a stick up his ass, so who the fuck knows what his issue is.
He steps into the space with Payton, turns, and looks me straight in the eye, and then he closes the curtain completely, erasing the sliver of sight I had.
My fingers curl into fists, and I move forward, but I only make it to the line of red tape on the floor before Brady appears.
He shakes his head, dipping down and speaking so only I can hear. “Don’t. I know you want to, but this is her show. Fuck it up, and it’s only gonna make shit worse.”
Worse.
Worse?
How could this possibly get any.
Fucking.
Worse!
As if the universe is testing me, the answer comes with a swift kick to the nuts not four hours later, in the form of a mandatory meeting with Coach Rogan.
“Alister is starting in Friday’s game.”
My pen freezes over the paper midsignature.
“Son.” He shakes his head, my expression clearly shouting the what the actual fuck for question racing through my mind. “You started this time last year over Riley. You know how I do things. Twice a season, every season, the second string is first out.” He narrows his eyes, and I know he has more to say, so I sit back, cross my arms, and wait for it. “I want you to work with him tomorrow. No less than two hours. Give him pointers and tips, take him under your wing like Riley did you.”
“I’m not Noah, and Alister is far from me.”
“He’s a football player, a damn good one, same as you.”
“He’s a dick who wants all the glory.”
Coach laughs. Loudly. He pushes to his feet, coming around the desk and tugging open his office door. “We all do, son. Every one of us. Some just hide it a little better.” He yanks his head, and I stand. “Watch his film. It’ll be in your inbox in the next ten minutes. Now go. And if I call you in here again, you know why that will be.”
I swallow, give a curt nod, and walk out, my shoulders tight and head high, but the minute I’m out of sight, they both crumble, because damn it—it’s happened.
I knew this was coming, but I guess my mind’s been too preoccupied to really process how screwed I’m on my way to becoming. Academic probation.
Academic probation with a sports waiver that affords me two points.
If I fail my next exams, even one, I’m out.
Fucking done.
Benched for the remainder of the season and personally placing Alister on the path to the playoffs, an opportunity he didn’t earn but would no doubt capitalize on. Any man would.
No one gives a shit who got the team there so long as they come home with the win in the end. If he leads the team to victory, where does that leave me?